tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642850456477163312018-03-05T11:29:36.010-08:00Bestselling Author Isabel LuceroIsabel Lucerohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17350750536330610204noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-464285045647716331.post-44742815973234241242018-02-12T08:18:00.000-08:002018-02-12T08:23:07.583-08:00That's good. I love you, too.On Monday, January 29th at 12:14pm, I lost my father.<br /><br /><br />I last saw him on Friday the 26th, right before we had to leave to come back to Guam. We had hope that he'd fight through everything he was going through and continue to live a while longer. I knew things didn't look well, but he always had hope. He remained positive, and continued to say, "Everything will be okay."<br /><br />My dad had a lot of health problems, and while he's had several of them for many, many years, they've only gotten worse in the last year or so. His organs were shutting down. He couldn't breathe without the help of his oxygen cannula or BiPAP machine. He was unable to walk or do anything on his own. Everyday there was a new problem, and something else he had to try to get through. I won't even go into everything he suffered from, but it was a lot, and it was hard to see him in that weakened state.<br /><br />I will always regret my children not knowing him better. We've been part of the military life for fourteen years, and most of that has been spent overseas. We saw family between our moves, but that wasn't enough. I'm sad they'll never know him like I did. They'll never know where they get their sarcasm from. They'll never hear his crazy jokes and know how funny he was. They'll never understand why we're so stubborn. It's because it's all in the Lucero blood. But what I am grateful for is that they got to see him again. I'm even more glad that he got to see them. He knew we were there, and was so happy to see us.<br /><br />At 12:19pm the day before he passed, my sister called me via video chat from his hospital room, and I was able to see and speak to him one last time. I told him that we had all made it back to Guam and that I loved him. His final words to me were, "That's good. I love you, too."<br /><br />He didn't look well. He was a little out of it and in pain, but he looked at me through the phone and spoke those six words. Through his pain and fear, confusion and worry, he told me he loved me, and I'll never forget those final words. I'm so happy I got to see him and spend some time with him before he died. I wish I could've been there longer. I wish I could've been there more often. But I'm glad I saw him, hugged him, kissed him, and told him I loved him in person.<br /><br />I got the news at around 6:20am the next morning. We all cried together that day. Since then, I've cried a lot. I've had random breakdowns while cooking dinner, after dropping my kids off at school, and while just laying in bed after waking up. I try to keep busy, but things are destined to slow down, and when they do, all I do is think and remember, and cry. My only solace now is that he isn't in pain anymore. He didn't deserve to suffer like that, and knowing he's not in pain makes it easier to deal with my own.<br /><br />I'll continue to have my bad days, but he will live forever in my heart and memories. I recently saw a quote that explains grief pretty well.<br /><br />"Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim." - Vicki Harrison<br /><br />I'm still learning. It took me a while to write this because I had to wait until I felt like it was a calm day and not an overwhelming day.<br /><br />I know life goes on for the rest of us, and while writing isn't always what I feel like doing, especially during my emotional days, I'm not quitting. My dad always believed in me. He told me all the time how proud he was of me, and how he just knew that one day one of my books would make it big. So, I'm not going to stop working. I want to be able to prove him right.<br /><br />I'm not much of a poet, but one day, during one of my emotional moments, I wanted to write out my feelings, and they came out in the form of a poem. It's probably not the best, but I want to share it anyway.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">The sun sets and rises again, though you are not here.</div><div style="text-align: center;">How can I continue to function is one thing I fear.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">But your memory must live on, and in my heart you’ll always be.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">Though you left this earth, your blood continues to flow through me.</div><div style="text-align: center;">You always said I made you proud, and that memory will forever remain.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">I miss you, Dad, but I’m glad you’re no longer in pain.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">I may never be able to hear your laugh or roll my eyes at your silly jokes.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">But I’ll always remember your love for music, and of course, for all the cokes.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">You said you believed in me, and always wished only the best.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">Though you won’t be here to see my accomplishments, I’ll remember your words above the rest.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">Tonight the sun will set and the day will come to an end.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">My heart will continue to be broken, but knowing you loved me will help it mend.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MSvzp6FxLEA/WoG-8YLGMCI/AAAAAAAAAf0/GQPuhsRu8lIkT8qch2T35SYtw3NzouLxgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_8593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MSvzp6FxLEA/WoG-8YLGMCI/AAAAAAAAAf0/GQPuhsRu8lIkT8qch2T35SYtw3NzouLxgCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_8593.JPG" width="256" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">I love you, Dad.&nbsp;</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">I'll miss you everyday.&nbsp;</div></div><br /><style><!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:1; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;} @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073786111 1 0 415 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page WordSection1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} --></style><style type="text/css">p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Neue'; color: #454545} </style>Isabel Lucerohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17350750536330610204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-464285045647716331.post-43898714402984581712018-01-10T14:16:00.001-08:002018-01-10T14:16:57.919-08:00I should've called more<br /><br />On New Year's Day, I called my dad to wish him a happy new year and also a happy birthday. I spoke to him on Christmas and he was fine, but on his birthday he sounded a little off and admitted to not feeling so well. You see, my dad's been sick for quite some time. There have been numerous hospital visits, and they seem to have become more frequent as of late. Anyway, a few hours after I spoke to him, my sister called to tell me he was being admitted into the hospital because he wasn't able to breathe properly.<br /><br />As of today, he's still in the hospital. He had to be put on life support because he wasn't able to breathe on his own. He's waiting to be transferred to another hospital in a different state because that is where his medical team is and because the hospital he's at now isn't capable of handling the procedure he needs done. However, the hospital is completely full and there are no rooms available, so my dad has to continue to wait, just for a chance at getting better. To say the least, it's a bit frustrating.<br /><br />Luckily, he was able to come off the ventilator, however he still needs oxygen, and is still struggling to breathe. He's far from healthy, and will never truly get there. He will need constant help with even the smallest things. However, my dad is a fighter. He's been fighting for years, and I'm so glad he's been able to pull through everything that has been thrown at him. I was able to speak to his doctor, and after that conversation, we've taken all the steps necessary for the military to fly us out of here and get us back home. Unfortunately, we aren't able to finalize our flights until we know the date my dad will be moved to the other hospital. So, we're still waiting.<br /><br />Today, my sister called me via video chat from my dad's hospital room, and I saw my dad for the first time in four and a half years. It's shocking to see the change in him, but it also made my heart happy to see him sitting up. He's always tried to put on a brave face. He never wants people to know how much he's truly struggling, and always says there's probably someone out there who has it worse. But right now, I feel like that can't be true.<br /><br />We were supposed to be living in the states by now, and if you've followed my updates on why we're still stuck on this island, you're aware of our situation, but it's frustrating to know I should've been there. I should've seen him already. I should be closer to home so I can help, but instead I'm thousands of miles away and completely helpless.<br /><br />I'm extremely grateful that I was able to see and talk to him today, though. I was able to tell him I love him, and that I'd hopefully be there soon. He looks forward to seeing me and my family. I mean, four and a half years?! That's a long time to not see family, but with us always living so far from the states, it's hard for us to visit. We usually visit between our moves, but because of our situation now, we've been here longer than we should have been.<br /><br />In this situation, it's easy to look back and have regrets. I know I should've called him more often. I should've tried harder. Our relationship hasn't always been the closest, and I've been away from home for a long time, and the time difference is awful, but I should've called more. Even if I didn't have anything to say, I should've called. I thought about him more than he'll know, and I should've called in those moments. A call doesn't have to last an hour. A call can be short and sweet, and I need to remember that.<br /><br />So, I guess I leave you with this. If your parents are still around, call them more often. If you're lucky enough to be able to visit them, do that too. Don't have regrets. Don't let something happen and be able to say, <i>I should've called more. I should've tried harder.</i> It will only make an already heartbreaking situation worse.<br /><br />As long as my parents are still here, I'll make sure to let them know I'm thinking about them and I love them. It's truly the least I could do. I don't mean for this blog to come off as a goodbye or anything like that, but I wanted to get my feelings out, and I know my dad is as tough as they come, and also stubborn as hell, so in my heart of hearts, I know he's gonna fight to stick around for as long as possible.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k8-XTsUkTz8/WlYHDuorigI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/4GjXd3Hm1Nod-yMOrqDCI76dL0n3SS6bACLcBGAs/s1600/522943_288960521192695_1843378616_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="782" height="319" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k8-XTsUkTz8/WlYHDuorigI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/4GjXd3Hm1Nod-yMOrqDCI76dL0n3SS6bACLcBGAs/s320/522943_288960521192695_1843378616_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keep fighting, Dad. I love you.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><br />Isabel Lucerohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17350750536330610204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-464285045647716331.post-34312290078603260832017-10-26T08:07:00.000-07:002017-10-26T08:07:31.905-07:00Military life, Author life, Mom life (part three)<br /><h2 style="text-align: center;">Mom Life</h2><div><br /></div>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; ¡Hola!<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; <br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; And finally part three. If you missed parts one and two, you can find them&nbsp;<a href="http://authorisabellucero.blogspot.com/2017/10/military-life-hello-everyone-been-while.html" target="_blank">HERE</a>&nbsp;and&nbsp;<a href="http://authorisabellucero.blogspot.com/2017/10/military-life-author-life-mom-life-part_24.html" target="_blank">HERE</a>.<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Go ahead and catch up, then come back here to finish. :)<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; So with all that other stuff out of the way, I figured I'd go ahead and blog about, well, mom life. As some of you may know, I have two kids. They're absolutely amazing! I mean, I may be a little biased, but hey, whatever. Haha. Really though, I'm incredibly lucky. I couldn't ask for better kids. They're polite and well-behaved. (Mostly, I mean, one is a rambunctious ten year old boy, and one is a teenage girl, so we have our moments) ;)<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Anyway, when I was pregnant with my son, I got super huge and uncomfortable. He was a big baby and always in my ribcage. I was like, well, I'm for sure done after this. Haha. Me and my husband were both young when we had him. I was twenty-one, and already done creating my family. My daughter was four months from turning three at the time, and we had one of each, and it was truly perfect. I always wanted to experience raising a boy and a girl, and I got what I wanted! So, we never planned on having anymore. We were always adamant about being done. We would get asked all the time if we wanted more, and our answer was always swift. "NO." The older the kids got, the less likely it was going to happen. We didn't want to start over with diapers and 3am feedings, and all that. Haha.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;There was a time two or three years back when I was watching old home movies of my kids and got super emotional about how small they used to be and got a bit of baby fever. Haha. When people say "They grow up fast." They aren't joking! It's crazy. I feel like they stay toddlers for two weeks and then it's gone! Where are my babies?!<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; The baby fever passed...for a while. Haha. In about June of this year, I was watching home videos again. We found a whole bunch of them and started going through them like crazy. It was a surprisingly emotional time for both of us. Our babies were growing up. Where did the time go?!<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; To sum up, I had the fever again...bad. I spoke to my husband about it, and he was kind of like, "Meh," but the reaction was a little weaker than the one he had years back. I felt like maybe he had a bit of the fever, too! Wishful thinking, perhaps. Haha. It took a few days of watching videos and me asking if he was sure he didn't want to have another. On the third day, I asked what I knew would probably be my final time. If he said no, I would understand and move on, but to my surprise, he said yes!! I was like, "really?" and he said yes again! My kids were already on board. My daughter has been wanting another sibling for years, so she was definitely rooting for another baby.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;On September 5th--my husband's birthday--we found out we were pregnant. Eeek!! I took the test by myself, already about 50% sure that I was pregnant, and when it came up positive, I tucked it into my purse and made a plan. We had plans to spend the weekend at one of the resorts here, and he was going to be opening his presents there. After he opened them all up, I nonchalantly reached into my purse and was like, "Oh yeah, I forgot about this one." It was wrapped in a plastic bag and put into a bubbled envelope. Nobody would've guessed what it was. He pulled out the bag and it came undone and fell into his lap. The look on his face was priceless! My kids were surprised as well. It was an amazing moment, and I caught it all on video! I'm so happy to have that.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; It wasn't until October 25th when I announced it to people on my personal, non-author Facebook page. I wanted to wait until I had been to the doctor and had an ultrasound. I needed to be sure everything was okay. And right now, everything is perfect. I am twelve weeks, and the baby has a strong heartbeat. I'm beyond happy! We all are.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; It's been so long since I've been pregnant, and I'm quite a bit older now, so I don't know if it's because of that or what, but man, I am feeling every single symptom of this pregnancy. The nausea, the heartburn, the headaches, and random aches and pains. The sleepiness! The insane, vivid dreams. I have it all. Haha.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The only downside, if you can call it that, is that because of what I mentioned in part one, about my husband's future in the military, the thought of having a baby in the midst of all this is quite scary. It makes it even more important for my husband to be able to stay in. It makes the possibility of moving either super far along into the pregnancy or with a newborn, quite the task. But most of all, the uncertainty of whether he stays in or not is still stressful, and we'll need every bit of comfort the military offers. We all know the added expense of another baby, and it would be nice to know we'll have steady income coming in, with medical taken care of, and a home to live in without worry. So, here's to hoping everything works out!<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Below is what we used to announce the pregnancy. One of the very first pictures of our little baby. I will be sure to keep you all updated as things progress.<br /><br />xoxo<br />Isabel<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1AYAVWBDwF4/WfG2p3rXaiI/AAAAAAAAAe8/bdCk6qbGBo8CVvi0eo1g3LJIJnBBYlpbwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6919.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="527" data-original-width="935" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1AYAVWBDwF4/WfG2p3rXaiI/AAAAAAAAAe8/bdCk6qbGBo8CVvi0eo1g3LJIJnBBYlpbwCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_6919.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; <br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Isabel Lucerohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17350750536330610204noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-464285045647716331.post-55841188729506904642017-10-24T06:18:00.000-07:002017-10-24T06:18:35.780-07:00Military life, Author life, Mom life (part two)<h2 style="text-align: center;"></h2><h2 style="text-align: center;">Author Life</h2><div><br /></div><div>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Hello again!</div><div><br /></div><div>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I'm back with part two, and this one will focus on all things books, writing, etc. If you missed part one, you can find it here -&gt;&nbsp;<a href="https://authorisabellucero.blogspot.com/2017/10/military-life-hello-everyone-been-while.html" target="_blank">Part One</a>&nbsp;&lt;- and catch up before reading this one.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;So, yes, with all the stress going on about the uncertainty of our future and my husband's career and injury, you can imagine it's been tough to really focus on anything else. Now, that doesn't mean I wasn't writing. I was. I've started and stopped three books. Three books!! Ugh. I just kind of got stuck somewhere in there for a while, and didn't feel like writing anything at all. Then I started back up with a story titled Seductress.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; You may remember me talking about this book a while back. It was going to be part of a series that I wrote with my husband. He'd be writing for the male main character, and I, the female. Then together, we'd write the third book. As awesome as that sounds, and as excited as I was for the story, it just didn't end up being as fun as I thought it would be. I'm not saying I don't love the storyline. I do. I still think it's a great story, however, it turns out I'm a bit more of a control freak than I thought. Haha. It's hard to not have control over a character. I love the Solomon King character, but my husband is writing for him, so when I'd be writing my story in the POV of Reina, it would be hard to channel the way I thought Solomon would be or what he'd say, when perhaps my husband was thinking something different. I had to constantly stop and ask, "Would he say this? Would he do this? What do you want him wearing? What would he think about this?"<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; At times, we'd both be in our own groove, writing away, but then we'd have to go back and look at a scene, and rewrite what we had already written just to fit the other person's idea. We'd both love what we'd already wrote, and it's hard to get rid of something you love because it wasn't part of the other person's plan. I just gotta say...I really give a lot of props to those writing duos, because I don't know how they do it! Haha.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Anyway, besides that, I started to feel like Reina on her own wasn't needed. While her story was well and good, Solomon is the star of the show. (You'll see once you read Madman) And he most definitely deserves all the glory. He's an amazing character, and I know my husband is doing an amazing job on his story. However, I felt like once you read Madman, you wouldn't really need to read Reina's story. While different, it's not extremely needed. You'll be filled in in Solomon's story, and I didn't want you all to feel like it was a waste of a story, or a waste of your money. What you'll really want to read is Madman, and then the story that comes after that. Also, OMG! Wait until you see the cover!! Ahhh!!!!<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I hope this is all making sense. I promise it does in my head. Haha. Anyway, so after struggling with continuing with the story, I told my husband how I felt and we decided to just go ahead and let him rearrange his story as needed to put more of Reina in there, and to let mine go. So, no, we won't be writing this series together. (Side note: If anyone is a Goodreads Librarian, please feel free to get rid of Seductress. They won't allow me to do it.) Anywhoo, perhaps another time, with another story, we'll be able to write together, but this one wasn't it.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;After giving up on that one, I had to try to plot and plan another story. I had already started one a while back that was originally going to be a novella about a summer romance, but I wasn't really feeling it anymore. So, I kept thinking and thinking, and went back to all my notes where I jot down random ideas. I found that I had written a rough draft of a blurb to a story I didn't have a title for, but I knew I loved the sound of the story. I started that one, and I'm not sure how far I got into, but it was a pretty good amount. But then...doubt kicked in. What is it with doubt? What a little bit*h!<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; So, yeah, I started thinking, "Do I really want this to be the story everybody reads once I finally come back from this super long break I've had? Can I sell this? How can I market this? Will people think it's just a mediocre story?" Blah. I know we all have self-doubt, but man, this really just brought my excitement down. You see, it wasn't going to be a fluffy romance story, nor a smutty story. It was going to be a somewhat suspenseful, mysterious story, but it would, of course, have some sort of romance in it. It just started to remind me of some of my previous books. Think Again, WAR, Darkness Within.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I LOVE those stories. Maybe that's weird to say, because I wrote them, but I truly love those stories. They're a bit different than your traditional romance stuff. Think Again deals with cheating, and I know that's taboo, and not many people love it. WAR has a female lead who's a badass, and the romance in that is minimal. Darkness Within is about a man who's had a hard life and became a bit of a psycho, and it doesn't have a traditional ending. I knew those would be a bit harder to sell, but man, I loved them! My writing has only gotten better since the Escort Series, and though those remain the books that have sold the most, I keep hoping people will take a chance on the new stuff...the better stuff.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; But I didn't want to spend all this time away, and pour my heart and soul into another book that I truly didn't feel would reach a lot of people. While writing for myself and writing what I love is what I've always believed in, I can't deny that it stings a little when the book goes widely unnoticed, and I know that it's mostly because of me. I need to write something that catches people's attention. I need to work harder at being seen. Spend more money on ads or blog tours. Any and everything I can do to be out there more, I need to do, but I want to do it with a story I think a lot of people will enjoy. And I think I've found a story that people will enjoy reading, and I'll enjoy writing.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I'm not saying this next story will be something every single person will love, but I do have high hopes. I'm not going to say much about it just now. I'm still in the beginning stages of yet another story, but this time I truly believe my readers will be excited about this. At least, I hope so. :)<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Let's hope writer's block doesn't come bite me in the ass again. Let's hope motivation doesn't leave me, and let's hope self-doubt stays far away!<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Until next time, my friends! Part three will be up soon. And perhaps I'll continue this blogging journey. It's not so bad. I like getting everything out. I'll be able to keep y'all updated as I write, and just random goings on in my life...if anyone is interested in that sort of thing. ;)<br /><br />xoxo<br />Isabel<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;</div>Isabel Lucerohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17350750536330610204noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-464285045647716331.post-84705384214819552017-10-24T05:01:00.000-07:002017-10-24T05:07:10.374-07:00Military life, Author life, Mom life (part one)<h2 style="text-align: center;">Military Life</h2><br />Hello everyone!<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;It's been a while, and I wanted to start filling you guys in on what's been going on. I know I've posted a couple times before, explaining a little of what's been going on, but things have changed since then. So, grab a drink or a snack, and settle in for a bit of reading. This is part one of three.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;First off, as some of you may know, my husband had to have surgery a while back. In April we traveled from Guam to Hawaii so my husband could have spinal surgery. He's had back problems for years, and it eventually got to the point where this was the last option to try to fix it. Before we left for the surgery, we had already received an assignment. We were set to move to New Mexico in July, but because of the surgery, and the need for him to recover, he was put on medical hold.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Left in limbo, we assumed once he had a few months to heal, be seen by the doctor again, we'd have an answer as to what would happen next. Now, things get real complicated, and it would be hard to fully explain, so I'll try to keep it as simple as possible. Basically, after appointments being pushed back, doctor's being changed, then changed again, and lots of waiting, he's seen and told he'd be recommended to retrain into another career field. (The one he's in now isn't the best one for his back) The doctor basically said it would go to the board, and they'd either say yes or no. But if the answer is no, then they'll try to kick him out.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Ahhhh!!! What?! Yeah, that's not good, so we were really concerned. Correction. ARE really concerned. Anyway, what happened was he received a call saying that instead of just a yes or no answer, they were going to start a full MEB. (Medical Evaluation Board) Meaning, they go over his records and decide if they want to keep him in or not. A lot more goes into this, but to sum up, they're sending him to the states next month for a series of appointments at the VA to see what he'd be capable of receiving if he gets out.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; More things will happen after he gets back in the hope of him being able to stay in. If they say no, there are appeals and more trips in his future, and us being here in the meantime. It's been extremely stressful! This is our future. I wish I could say we made enough money in book sales to not need the military, but that's definitely not the case. We need the military. We wouldn't know where or how to start over without it.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; We're still in the middle of this with no idea what's going to happen or when we'll find out. None of us want to be on this island any longer, but we're stuck here until we get an answer on his future in the military. All we can do is hope everything turns out for the best. It's been an extremely tough year. Lots of stress and uncertainty. If he's able to stay in, whether in his current job or a new one, our assignment will likely change, but at this point, we're just hoping he can stay in. I'll deal with wherever we have to live as long as he's able to keep his career.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I feel like this isn't even half of it. There's so much that's been going on, and currently going on, and it's been hard to deal with. Hopefully we'll receive some good news by the end of it all.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Anyway, I'll attach a few pictures from Hawaii, because even though we were there for a serious reason, we still had time to go out and explore. I won't post hospital pictures. I'll leave that to him to talk about. :)<br /><br />&nbsp; <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HoI6e0uDxtw/Wew3xrqOkVI/AAAAAAAAAd0/VD77yv4zhPo06-tfyj0-HgF65sn9TxU1QCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HoI6e0uDxtw/Wew3xrqOkVI/AAAAAAAAAd0/VD77yv4zhPo06-tfyj0-HgF65sn9TxU1QCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_1990.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Excuse the crazy hair. I was in the process of going blonde, and also it had just rained, so it was frizzy and crazy.&nbsp;</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nri8HSQN18g/Wew4mtzomkI/AAAAAAAAAeE/mhUwpew8NHsvr9UA6zaa_2u3Q8J_XZoTwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nri8HSQN18g/Wew4mtzomkI/AAAAAAAAAeE/mhUwpew8NHsvr9UA6zaa_2u3Q8J_XZoTwCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_1186.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">At one of the most amazing malls ever!! Ala Moana</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9iHHs4VhIb0/Wew4nYh90XI/AAAAAAAAAeI/-76ziA5w47Mrr1aF6Pj_HdjYMvyh2lcqwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9iHHs4VhIb0/Wew4nYh90XI/AAAAAAAAAeI/-76ziA5w47Mrr1aF6Pj_HdjYMvyh2lcqwCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_1390.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">North Shore</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T5ulor7nYBE/Wew4o77dIvI/AAAAAAAAAeM/_Nxw9MGN9Ww7jy9a0fcr8UG0peIg8qWKgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1231" data-original-width="934" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T5ulor7nYBE/Wew4o77dIvI/AAAAAAAAAeM/_Nxw9MGN9Ww7jy9a0fcr8UG0peIg8qWKgCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_1391.JPG" width="484" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iXDOZ6M-w4w/Wew4w_A6VEI/AAAAAAAAAeQ/NXofGlFlFwsFNw_07WG2uIfqWyJHN9LhACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1190" data-original-width="1600" height="476" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iXDOZ6M-w4w/Wew4w_A6VEI/AAAAAAAAAeQ/NXofGlFlFwsFNw_07WG2uIfqWyJHN9LhACLcBGAs/s640/IMG_1412.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6URKleMWaZ0/Wew4ySMoKiI/AAAAAAAAAeY/-cNEcRxK9voG-rgJkJEgRcwDwoEHCkKHACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1251" data-original-width="1600" height="500" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6URKleMWaZ0/Wew4ySMoKiI/AAAAAAAAAeY/-cNEcRxK9voG-rgJkJEgRcwDwoEHCkKHACLcBGAs/s640/IMG_1422.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PbTIXK9GAmQ/Wew444StdRI/AAAAAAAAAec/Ht8k8ZJx0UAx8yVOSTky4isHzw48S-hRgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1669.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PbTIXK9GAmQ/Wew444StdRI/AAAAAAAAAec/Ht8k8ZJx0UAx8yVOSTky4isHzw48S-hRgCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_1669.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Waikiki</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RGXmp0GgmJA/Wew45dnfxBI/AAAAAAAAAeg/5EI3qfqzc20yM1QIcaD_zziScV9UZM37ACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RGXmp0GgmJA/Wew45dnfxBI/AAAAAAAAAeg/5EI3qfqzc20yM1QIcaD_zziScV9UZM37ACLcBGAs/s640/IMG_1991.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0avJF-Xqhrk/Wew45SwP70I/AAAAAAAAAek/E4ffjJz-GaoqZKanZ5m4K3UpK9zah9T4QCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0avJF-Xqhrk/Wew45SwP70I/AAAAAAAAAek/E4ffjJz-GaoqZKanZ5m4K3UpK9zah9T4QCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_2002.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The views!!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ScKQsHxv-cc/Wew485GXPPI/AAAAAAAAAes/u06G3ZLcIWAOtak1zXCCjM40HoAV1MPCgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ScKQsHxv-cc/Wew485GXPPI/AAAAAAAAAes/u06G3ZLcIWAOtak1zXCCjM40HoAV1MPCgCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_2007.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">A rainbow in the rainbow state</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-65oL6zw-y4I/Wew47d-OaJI/AAAAAAAAAeo/QYPZNBr9X7UDzblZf7d5e3D4WAQDwgm3ACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1260" height="486" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-65oL6zw-y4I/Wew47d-OaJI/AAAAAAAAAeo/QYPZNBr9X7UDzblZf7d5e3D4WAQDwgm3ACLcBGAs/s640/IMG_2025.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">I truly fell in love with Hawaii while we were there.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Anyway, stay tuned for part two, where I talk about what's been going on with my writing, books, and all that good stuff.&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div>xoxo</div><div>Isabel Lucero<br /><br /><br /><br /><h2 style="text-align: center;"></h2><div><br /></div><div>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;</div></div>Isabel Lucerohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17350750536330610204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-464285045647716331.post-25144162718610109432016-11-30T14:02:00.001-08:002016-11-30T14:02:15.942-08:00Chapter One of Darkness Within<h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">ONE</span></h2><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><i>“Chief Frank Larsen of the San Bernardino Police Department says they are looking for information regarding fifty-one year old, Steve Baker’s whereabouts. He was reported missing by his neighbor who told police she was concerned when he didn’t show up for their morning get-together on his porch—something they’ve done for years. &nbsp;After waiting all day, and never getting a response at his door or on his phone, she called the police stating he had no family that would report him missing. Upon entering the home, police did find evidence of a struggle. If anybody has any information…”&nbsp;</i><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> “Yeah, I can hear you,” I say into the phone as I mute the TV.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Will you be able to make it out on Saturday?” Nick asks me, referring to his birthday celebration.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I pinch the bridge of my nose between my forefinger and thumb, squeezing my eyes shut as I allow my chin to touch my chest. “What’s the plan again?”<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“We’ll start the night watching the game and having some beers at Celebrities. After that, we’ll probably find a bar or club to spend the rest of the night at. You in?”<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I stifle my groan. “Ah. Maybe. I might have plans, but I’ll let you know tomorrow.”<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Nick sighs loudly over the receiver. He’s used to me blowing him off, but it doesn’t stop him from inviting me to things. “All right, man. Let me know.”<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I hang up and place the phone next to me before reaching for the remote to unmute the TV. The news has gone off, replaced by some stupid reality dating show. With a huff, I press the power button and get up from the black, leather couch. My feet carry me across the wooden floors, taking me to the deck on the side of my house.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Here in Twin Peaks, my home is nestled in the mountains and surrounded by trees that dwarf the houses that reside near them. More importantly, however, the neighbors are scarce. It’s not a big home and it’s nothing fancy, but the privacy makes living here worth it. The houses that are closest to me cannot be seen from my property, and again, more importantly, they can’t see mine. This is where I feel most content—away from crowds of people, in my own element, where I’m in control. Where I can be me.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As a kid I was labeled a weirdo, a loner, and called many more names I’ve long tried to forget. The labels kids put on me in school didn’t bother me as much as what was happening to me at home. The terms my foster parents used to refer to me—little shit, worthless, good-for-nothing, waste of space, were still not as bothersome as being hit, kicked, starved, touched, and locked in a closet.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I never thought I’d find happiness in a small, dark place, but at least in that closet, I knew I was alone.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The kids didn’t know why I preferred being alone. They didn’t understand I had already lost the ability to trust people. Now I choose to be by myself as much as possible due to my abhorrence for much of the human population. Sure, there’s probably some well-meaning people in the world, but I’ve yet to meet very many. However, I try to exist like any normal person would, putting my mask in place every time I leave my house.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I no longer steer clear of people because I’m afraid of them or don’t trust them. That ship has sailed. I tend to steer clear of them for fear of how I’d react if they upset me too much. I don’t trust the darkness that resides inside of me.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>You know how people say if your parent is a drunk, you’re more likely to become a drunk? Or if your dad was abusive, you’re likely to abuse your own family? Yeah, well I was lucky enough to have alcoholic, abusive, demented, perverted, and neglectful parents. What do you think years of that does to a person? Nothing good, I can tell you that. &nbsp;Maybe I’m just one of the unlucky ones. Perhaps after years of both mental and physical torture, my mind was too weak and it snapped, creating a person void of emotion. You have to learn to not feel anything after feeling entirely too much for too long. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I sit in one of the black, aluminum patio chairs and rest my booted feet on the matching table. After swiping a pack of cigarettes from the railing of the deck, I pluck one from the box and light it up. The tip burns red as I inhale, and smoke filters up into the charcoal sky.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My mind wanders, trying to figure out what I’m going to tell Nick regarding Saturday night. It’s not that I don’t like him. I like him about as much as I can like anybody, but everything in me despises being around people, especially large groups of people. The club and bar scene is not one I ever wanted to be a part of. Any place that serves liquor to people who don’t know how to handle it, is only looking for problems.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I glance at my watch before putting my cigarette out and stride back into the house. One of the selling points with this place was the fact that it has its own little built-in workshop. At least that’s what I’m assuming it was used for. It’s connected to the back of the house, which is good because there are no homes or roads back there, only massive trees.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The floor in the workshop is concrete, and besides the wall the workshop shares with my house, the walls are made of concrete blocks. There were two large windows in here before, but I’ve since covered them up with plywood—one piece on each side of the glass.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When I enter the dark room, I pick up the lantern I left on the floor and turn it on. The fluorescent LED light is bright, but not enough to illuminate the entire room. My steps are unhurried as I make my way to the other side, but my boots clomp loudly with each stride.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I approach the chair in the corner and lift the lantern up, holding it out in front of me. My menacing smile stretches across my face slowly.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hello, Mr. Baker. Nice to see you’re awake.”<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-76i4t0s_cd4/WD9Ly3nxQfI/AAAAAAAAAdQ/iCxE_eHvkUwjHAVQsM52LbbE0sZB8sLYQCLcB/s1600/DarknessWithin_FBcover.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-76i4t0s_cd4/WD9Ly3nxQfI/AAAAAAAAAdQ/iCxE_eHvkUwjHAVQsM52LbbE0sZB8sLYQCLcB/s640/DarknessWithin_FBcover.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://tinyurl.com/gpzu2d3" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://itun.es/us/ic35eb.l" target="_blank">iTunes</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://tinyurl.com/jtuh7jz" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://tinyurl.com/zhgr7g6" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://tinyurl.com/jzwav7m" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://tinyurl.com/zrb2m7k" target="_blank">B &amp; N</a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Isabel Lucerohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17350750536330610204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-464285045647716331.post-860145931094377052016-10-30T23:20:00.000-07:002016-10-30T23:20:23.877-07:00Darkness Within Cover and Pre-order Links<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><h2 style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><u><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Darkness Within</span></b></u></h2><div><u><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xY1eT_Bhv50/WBbf7q31JNI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/40NB5TNsUTIKJsAmnDm-Sb_Gct8VDDOkgCLcB/s1600/DarknessWithin_FBcover.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xY1eT_Bhv50/WBbf7q31JNI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/40NB5TNsUTIKJsAmnDm-Sb_Gct8VDDOkgCLcB/s640/DarknessWithin_FBcover.png" width="640" /></a></div><div><u><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The moment it happens, everything in me changes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Imagine somebody was able to fit inside of your body. Their arms are the same length as yours. You’re both the same height. Everything is exactly the same. Now imagine that person not being a person at all. That thing inside of you is a shadow. Darkness. A silhouette of you, only living on the inside of your body. It doesn’t have a conscious. It doesn’t have a heart. Nothing within that darkness is remotely human. Its only goal is to take over your body. It fights against your muscles. It tries breaking through the skin. It wants to replace you. That’s what it feels like when the darkness that lives inside me starts trying to get out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I feel it happening. The pressure builds. My skin prickles. And the only thing that tames it, getting it back to resting peacefully inside me, is to unleash it. I have to let it wreak havoc, and I quite enjoy the mayhem.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Analeigh Price comes into my life and does the one thing I hate; question me about my past. She can pretend she wants to get to know me all she wants, but she’s not ready for the truth. I won’t become a better person for her, because I am who I am. She can't fix me, because my wounds are unfixable.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">You see, I’m not like everybody else. Oh, no. I’m different. My humanity was stripped from me long ago, and those who are responsible are about to be paid a visit. You’ve never heard a story like mine, because I’m unlike anyone you’ve ever met. I’m no hero. I’m the guy you don’t want to piss off, because once the darkness within me is unleashed, it’ll be too late to get away.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">What’s my name? It’s Donovan. Donovan James. But the darkness is taking over, and it’s only good at one thing, so I must go.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><h3 style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>Pre-Order Links</u></span></h3><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">★★TBR &amp; Pre-Order links★★</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Goodreads- http://tinyurl.com/gpzu2d3</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">iTunes- https://itun.es/us/ic35eb.l</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Amazon US- http://tinyurl.com/jtuh7jz</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Amazon UK- http://tinyurl.com/zhgr7g6</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Amazon AU- http://tinyurl.com/jzwav7m</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">B &amp; N- http://tinyurl.com/zrb2m7k</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kITVJki-hWQ/WBbfL4baYuI/AAAAAAAAAYE/sxncewnf5R8Q9g4_Mr203p7mdh37DxRNwCLcB/s1600/DarknessWithin_jacket_REVEALFILE.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="481" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kITVJki-hWQ/WBbfL4baYuI/AAAAAAAAAYE/sxncewnf5R8Q9g4_Mr203p7mdh37DxRNwCLcB/s640/DarknessWithin_jacket_REVEALFILE.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Title: Darkness Within</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Genre: Dark Erotica</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Cover Model: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/marshalliss/?fref=ts" target="_blank">Marshall Perrin</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Photographer: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Wander-Book-Club-461833027360302/?fref=ts" target="_blank">Wander Aguiar&nbsp;</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Cover Designer: Robin Harper from <a href="https://www.facebook.com/WickedByDesignRobinHarper/?fref=ts" target="_blank">Wicked by Design</a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-enedHpG9ae4/WBbiTrjeVuI/AAAAAAAAAYk/G-knrI8e3u8Zvju3Lrq07Aq_WsZMCMeJgCLcB/s1600/14657408_1817001741845189_9057247413696687863_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-enedHpG9ae4/WBbiTrjeVuI/AAAAAAAAAYk/G-knrI8e3u8Zvju3Lrq07Aq_WsZMCMeJgCLcB/s400/14657408_1817001741845189_9057247413696687863_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tYtKClmiEjg/WBbiTjRwkpI/AAAAAAAAAYg/24XZmXVPqCIc6gGCaHvPERIcq5HVZShoACLcB/s1600/14716237_1817001745178522_8171693506926467356_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tYtKClmiEjg/WBbiTjRwkpI/AAAAAAAAAYg/24XZmXVPqCIc6gGCaHvPERIcq5HVZShoACLcB/s400/14716237_1817001745178522_8171693506926467356_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YyUafQ6QY4s/WBbiTfsm83I/AAAAAAAAAYc/T3MxSNdMHIsS0rGHvkutLosUhjydmXAKACLcB/s1600/14729325_1817001788511851_1737383271629127217_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YyUafQ6QY4s/WBbiTfsm83I/AAAAAAAAAYc/T3MxSNdMHIsS0rGHvkutLosUhjydmXAKACLcB/s400/14729325_1817001788511851_1737383271629127217_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br />Isabel Lucerohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17350750536330610204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-464285045647716331.post-86654051531310385782016-09-13T16:11:00.000-07:002016-09-13T16:11:11.459-07:00Chapter One - Think Again<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Chapter One</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>With a curvy body and long, red hair, she’s my complete opposite. I watch from a chair in the lobby as she makes her way to the hotel elevator. The dress she wears hugs her body in all the right places, and I can't help but wonder if I could pull off the same outfit. Unfortunately, probably not. She has a slight smile as the brass doors close, taking her to a room upstairs. Something about the way she holds herself screams confidence, and her little smirk tells me she’s looking forward to going upstairs and having some fun. With a sigh, I begin flipping through an interior design magazine that was left on the table in front of me.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I’ve been sitting here people watching for a little while now. Earlier, I had a drink with my friend, Carmen, who works at the bar in this hotel. Considering she spends most of her time here, I understood when she wanted to leave after one drink. Since I wasn’t ready to go home, I found a secluded place in the lobby to sit and relax, not wanting to sit alone at the bar.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I browse through the magazine for a while before my phone vibrates, alerting me of an email from my boss.<br /><i><br /></i><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> Aria,&nbsp;</i><br /><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>This time next week I need you to pick somebody up from the airport. This is an important person to me, and one who will hopefully be working with us soon. Once I have flight information, I'll pass it on, but clear your schedule for next Friday.&nbsp;</i><br /><i>Scott A. Monroe&nbsp;</i><br /><i>M.D.</i><br /><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Great. I get to play chauffeur to the newbie. I don't bother sending a response, choosing to drop my phone in my purse instead. Scott already knows I'll do it, because I don't exactly have a choice since he’s my boss, and honestly, I really like the man. I'm sure he'll confirm with me on Monday, anyway.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> Having a new person in the office isn't a bad thing, though. With JoAnn quitting like she did last week, we need help at the receptionist desk of the private practice we work in. I wonder why this person is so special though, and why they're flying in for this job. I’m sure there are plenty people in Anchorage who could work as a receptionist.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I don't have time to think about it further, because the redheaded woman is back, catching my attention once again. She exits the elevator, looking almost exactly the way she did when she went in. I expected messed up hair and smeared makeup, but I guess even though she's only been gone for nearly thirty minutes, she had time to freshen up before leaving the room. She either didn’t have sex or it wasn’t that good and didn’t last too long. My gaze stays on her as she walks towards me.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When she sits down on the couch across from me, I go back to pretending to read my magazine. The scent of her perfume invades my nostrils, and based on the strength of it, it would appear she bathed herself in it. The scent is floral and sweet, smelling like one of those Victoria Secret body sprays. &nbsp;I glance over my magazine at her and notice she’s keeping her eye on the elevators. Waiting. Her thick, red hair falls over her shoulders, covering up some of the major cleavage she’s sporting.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I place the magazine back on the table and gather my purse, figuring it’s time to go. She gives me a friendly smile as our eyes meet, and I return it with a quick, tight grin before walking to the other side of the lobby where they sell refreshments. I buy a bottle of water and a muffin, and while I’m waiting for the cashier to give me my change, I look back at the redhead.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The elevator door dings, and I watch as she stands and begins to walk in that direction, her hips swaying with every step. A man comes strutting out, his bright blue tie is loose around his neck, and his black suit jacket looks a little wrinkled. It appears that the dirty blonde hair on his head has been pulled on, evidence of a romp in the sack. Almost as if he can hear my thoughts, he runs his hands through it, trying to get each hair in place.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The woman approaches him, and he looks a little surprised to see her, but she smiles and shimmies her body up next to him. He smirks down at her and says something that makes her laugh fill the lobby.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Here you go,” the cashier says, grabbing my attention.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Thanks,” I respond distractedly, getting my change.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When I look back in the direction of the couple, I find that they’re already stepping outside. I put my change in my purse, take a few bites of my muffin before deciding I don’t really want it after all. After tossing it in the trash and taking a few sips of my water, I exit the hotel and take a deep breath of the fresh air. I need to get home before it gets too late, so I hurry to my car and begin my journey.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The drive from the Embassy Suites to my house takes between fifteen and twenty minutes depending on traffic. At the end of July in Anchorage, the weather is just about as perfect as you can ask for. On some days it’s sixty-seven degrees, on others it’s seventy-five. Believe me when I tell you, sixty anything degrees is extremely warm in Alaska. When you hit negative temps in the winter, anything above forty is pretty good.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Right now, even at six-thirty at night, the sun is shining like it’s midday. It won’t begin to go down until sometime between ten-thirty and eleven. Gotta love Alaska.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When I pull up to my two-story home and into the garage, I’m not surprised to see that my husband isn’t home yet. He’s always late coming home from work, telling me his job as an architectural and engineering manager is never done. Aaron is constantly having to finish up plans before certain deadlines, and when he comes home, he’s usually back to work in his office soon after.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As soon as I enter the house, I take off my shoes and leave them in the mudroom before walking straight upstairs. The large and numerous windows in the house let in the natural sunlight, and give you a beautiful view of mountains and trees in every room.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My achy feet take me to my dresser where I pull out something to change into. As I strip out of my work clothes, I take a minute to look over my reflection in the mirror. My blonde hair is tied up into a ponytail, and my nurse’s scrubs are the least flattering things I can wear. Once everything is off, my green eyes look over every inch of my body.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I like to think I’m still in pretty good shape. I’m not curvy like the lady at the hotel, but I’m happy with my body. I don’t have huge boobs or a lot of ass, but I think I’m well-proportioned.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I often have to tell myself I’m good enough, but you know, self-doubt always creeps in. I try not to compare myself to other women. There were times where I’d see one woman and think to myself, “Oh, I wish I had her toned legs.” Then another woman would walk by and I’d think, “Oh, I’d love to have her boobs.” Now my thought process is: Fuck it. I am who I am. There are still times when I think I’m not good enough, but I’ll get to the why of that later.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I put on some yoga pants and a tank top, opting to take a bubble bath later, and choosing to eat dinner first. I’m not in the kitchen too long before I have a large bowl of grilled chicken salad prepared. As I’m scooping the mixture onto make my plate, I hear the garage door open.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Aaron strolls into the kitchen a minute later and drops his briefcase on the island.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey. Want some food?” I ask him.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He eyes the bowl of salad and makes a face. “No. I’m gonna grab a shower real quick.”<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Okay. How was work?”<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Work was,” he pauses and lets out a long sigh, “work.”<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I give him a small smile and nod.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I’ve been married to Aaron for three years, but we’ve been together for nearly seven. I was just twenty-one when we began dating, and he was twenty-five. Aaron was charming, handsome, funny, and a romantic. He was so easy to fall for.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I was working at a coffee shop while going to college, and he was one of my regulars. Every time he came in, he flirted with me, and eventually began bringing me a single flower with each visit. He didn’t ask me out right away, though.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Every day I anticipated his visit, hoping that that day would be the day he’d ask me out. One of my co-workers kept telling me to just ask him out, but my pride wouldn’t let me do that. I thought I was giving him enough signals without throwing myself at him completely.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Aaron looked like he stepped straight out of a magazine every time he walked into the shop. His perfect smile melted me, his dazzling hazel eyes hypnotized me, his blonde hair was strategically in place, and he was always dressed immaculately.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After about a month and a half, he finally asked me out. I fell hard and fast. We were the happiest, most affectionate couple, and our friends gave us shit about it all time. Sickeningly sweet is what they called us. My girlfriends were mad that at such a young age, I was already “tied down” and not wanting to go out with them anymore. I didn’t even care. I didn’t miss the single lifestyle. I had Aaron, and we were happy.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Janna would always tell me I should think twice about settling down so fast, and reminded me constantly that I had only had one boyfriend before him. My co-worker, Mel, would always try to convince me to stay single like her so we could go out together.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I figured they were jealous. Everybody wanted an Aaron, if not Aaron himself, and I had him. I wasn’t going to let my happily ever after slip through my fingers.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Perhaps, I should have thought twice, because like the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I walk around the kitchen island and towards my husband. I remove his already loose, bright blue tie, and then his wrinkled black suit jacket.<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’ll put these in the laundry room,” I tell him. “Bring me the rest after your shower.”<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He gives me a hasty kiss on my cheek. “Thanks.”<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I watch him disappear upstairs and I’m left alone with the smell of the redheaded woman’s perfume on his clothes.<br /><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FCAKxY3odyY/V9iGvmzEBUI/AAAAAAAAAXo/6DTjLS4qPH4tVhhYInXHioS0yIf6r7bvgCLcB/s1600/ThinkAgain_ecover_REVEALFILE.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FCAKxY3odyY/V9iGvmzEBUI/AAAAAAAAAXo/6DTjLS4qPH4tVhhYInXHioS0yIf6r7bvgCLcB/s640/ThinkAgain_ecover_REVEALFILE.png" width="408" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Synopsis</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He thinks I don't know.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He thinks he's getting away with it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He thinks karma won't come back to get him.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He needs to think again.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Men think women are vindictive, and maybe they're right. But when we get to the point of being cold, calculating, and vindictive, it's because they pushed us there.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Not only is my husband unaware that he's pushing me too far, he also doesn't realize that I just met a man who's ready to catch me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I think he's just my new co-worker.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I think it's just innocent flirting.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I think I'll be able to keep my morals.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I need to think again.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Buy Links</b></span></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Amazon US: http://tinyurl.com/zkxqj9n</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Amazon UK:http://tinyurl.com/gkwt585</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Amazon AU:http://tinyurl.com/hd7vffh&nbsp;</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">iBooks - https://itun.es/us/IYhIcb.l</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Kobo - http://tinyurl.com/h64urkr</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">B&amp;N - http://tinyurl.com/j89ahhj</div>Isabel Lucerohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17350750536330610204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-464285045647716331.post-31083030016407950842016-06-27T09:35:00.000-07:002016-06-27T09:40:38.807-07:00Think Again is LIVE!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d_7FtRtYcmo/V2rXC2W_nKI/AAAAAAAAzPk/OGLvU5OqM3cC-F1M2srb66jl6FccP1VUACLcB/s1600/Think%2BAgain%2BRelease%2BBanner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d_7FtRtYcmo/V2rXC2W_nKI/AAAAAAAAzPk/OGLvU5OqM3cC-F1M2srb66jl6FccP1VUACLcB/s640/Think%2BAgain%2BRelease%2BBanner.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Title: Think Again</i></span></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Author: Isabel Lucero</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Genre: Contemporary (Steamy) Romance</i></span></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"><i>Release Date: June 27, 2016</i></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LSkWcDtv5g8/VYjY4B3h9dI/AAAAAAAAO34/n6PdtiRa4yw/s1600/event%2Bbanners-synopsis.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">He thinks I don't know.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">He thinks he's getting away with it.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">He thinks karma won't come back to get him.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">He needs to think again.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">Men think women are vindictive, and maybe they're right. But when we get to the point of being cold, calculating, and vindictive, it's because they pushed us there.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">Not only is my husband unaware that he's pushing me too far, he also doesn't realize that I just met a man who's ready to catch me.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">I think he's just my new co-worker.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">I think it's just innocent flirting.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">I think I'll be able to keep my morals.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">I need to think again.</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-khgKtUGCL8w/VYjaXhKqhqI/AAAAAAAAO4U/SOlVz0ndgcA/s1600/event%2Bbanners-buy%2Bnow.jpg" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9nPUG0M90eI/V2q2KGrW-vI/AAAAAAAAzPY/qtp6Sik__1Qqi1m7NhJVW1PJDwfxFUvZACK4B/s1600/ThinkAgain_Amazon.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9nPUG0M90eI/V2q2KGrW-vI/AAAAAAAAzPY/qtp6Sik__1Qqi1m7NhJVW1PJDwfxFUvZACK4B/s640/ThinkAgain_Amazon.jpg" width="408" /></a></div><a href="http://goo.gl/RkVktP" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eYTtlwpfYGg/VYrtbNLTpQI/AAAAAAAAPBQ/EOnAl-7yS4E/s1600/AMAZON.png" /></a><a href="http://goo.gl/aMABkr" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-A-zIbhbgbvI/VYrtbI5JrnI/AAAAAAAAPB8/rvT0SStMEnk/s1600/amazon%2Bca.png" /></a><a href="http://goo.gl/lkWMFP" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1v3CndxIwuA/VYrtbsn3d5I/AAAAAAAAPBU/Mfb-gt9DX5s/s1600/amazon%2Buk.png" /></a><a href="http://goo.gl/2BGv61" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N7-tRSavCeQ/VYrtbDltOmI/AAAAAAAAPBM/a7udO38DWOo/s1600/amazon%2Bau.png" /></a><a href="http://tinyurl.com/j89ahhj" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HrkXr54wuoQ/VYrtcTI42sI/AAAAAAAAPBY/72Z6l9zw3gQ/s1600/barnes%2Band%2Bnoble.png" /></a><a href="http://tinyurl.com/h64urkr" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oAXxYDefyj0/VYrtd6cm4PI/AAAAAAAAPBk/_MFO51azB9E/s1600/kobo.png" /></a><a href="https://itun.es/us/IYhIcb.l" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yNaY92eEM0w/VYrtdtMfLOI/AAAAAAAAPBs/phWS1g3HUt8/s1600/itunes.png" /></a> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29365000" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ai37zJZgc-8/VYjq38ODKII/AAAAAAAAO7o/-hSSxSq9ORA/s1600/goodreads-button.png" /></a></div><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </div></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dXbh-n0heog/VYjaXpH--4I/AAAAAAAAO4g/QrwtW7bYSD8/s1600/event%2Bbanners-excerpt.jpg" /></div></div><div style="border: 9px groove #fdf486; height: 400px; overflow: auto; width: 98%;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">When she sits down on the couch across from me, I go back to pretending to read my magazine. The scent of her perfume invades my nostrils, and based on the strength of it, it would appear she bathed herself in it. The scent is floral and sweet, smelling like one of those Victoria Secret body sprays. I glance over my magazine at her and notice she’s keeping her eye on the elevators. Waiting. Her thick, red hair falls over her shoulders, covering up some of the major cleavage she’s sporting.&nbsp;</span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">I place the magazine back on the table and gather my purse, figuring it’s time to go. She gives me a friendly smile as our eyes meet, and I return it with a quick, tight grin before walking to the other side of the lobby where they sell refreshments. I buy a bottle of water and a muffin, and while I’m waiting for the cashier to give me my change, I look back at the redhead.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">The elevator door dings, and I watch as she stands and begins to walk in that direction, her hips swaying with every step. A man comes strutting out, his bright blue tie is loose around his neck, and his black suit jacket looks a little wrinkled. It appears that the dirty blonde hair on his head has been pulled on, evidence of a romp in the sack. Almost as if he can hear my thoughts, he runs his hands through it, trying to get each hair in place.</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">The woman approaches him, and he looks a little surprised to see her, but she smiles and shimmies her body up next to him. He smirks down at her and says something that makes her laugh fill the lobby.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">“Here you go,” the cashier says, grabbing my attention.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">“Thanks,” I respond distractedly, getting my change.</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">When I look back in the direction of the couple, I find that they’re already stepping outside. I put my change in my purse, take a few bites of my muffin before deciding I don’t really want it after all. After tossing it in the trash and taking a few sips of my water, I exit the hotel and take a deep breath of the fresh air. I need to get home before it gets too late, so I hurry to my car and begin my journey.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">The drive from the Embassy Suites to my house takes between fifteen and twenty minutes depending on traffic. At the end of July in Anchorage, the weather is just about as perfect as you can ask for. On some days it’s sixty-seven degrees, on others it’s seventy-five. Believe me when I tell you, sixty anything degrees is extremely warm in Alaska. When you hit negative temps in the winter, anything above forty is pretty good.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">Right now, even at six-thirty at night, the sun is shining like it’s midday. It won’t begin to go down until sometime between ten-thirty and eleven. Gotta love Alaska.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">When I pull up to my two-story home and into the garage, I’m not surprised to see that my husband isn’t home yet. He’s always late coming home from work, telling me his job as an architectural and engineering manager is never done. Aaron is constantly having to finish up plans before certain deadlines, and when he comes home, he’s usually back to work in his office soon after.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">As soon as I enter the house, I take off my shoes and leave them in the mudroom before walking straight upstairs. The large and numerous windows in the house let in the natural sunlight, and give you a beautiful view of mountains and trees in every room.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">My achy feet take me to my dresser where I pull out something to change into. As I strip out of my work clothes, I take a minute to look over my reflection in the mirror. My blonde hair is tied up into a ponytail, and my nurse’s scrubs are the least flattering things I can wear. Once everything is off, my green eyes look over every inch of my body.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">I like to think I’m still in pretty good shape. I’m not curvy like the lady at the hotel, but I’m happy with my body. I don’t have huge boobs or a lot of ass, but I think I’m well-proportioned.</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">I often have to tell myself I’m good enough, but you know, self-doubt always creeps in. I try not to compare myself to other women. There were times where I’d see one woman and think to myself, “Oh, I wish I had her toned legs.” Then another woman would walk by and I’d think, “Oh, I’d love to have her boobs.” Now my thought process is: Fuck it. I am who I am. There are still times when I think I’m not good enough, but I’ll get to the why of that later.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">I put on some yoga pants and a tank top, opting to take a bubble bath later, and choosing to eat dinner first. I’m not in the kitchen too long before I have a large bowl of grilled chicken salad prepared. As I’m scooping the mixture onto make my plate, I hear the garage door open.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">Aaron strolls into the kitchen a minute later and drops his briefcase on the island.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">“Hey. Want some food?” I ask him.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">He eyes the bowl of salad and makes a face. “No. I’m gonna grab a shower real quick.”</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">“Okay. How was work?”&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">“Work was,” he pauses and lets out a long sigh, “work.”&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">I give him a small smile and nod.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">I’ve been married to Aaron for three years, but we’ve been together for nearly seven. I was just twenty-one when we began dating, and he was twenty-five. Aaron was charming, handsome, funny, and a romantic. He was so easy to fall for.</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">I was working at a coffee shop while going to college, and he was one of my regulars. Every time he came in, he flirted with me, and eventually began bringing me a single flower with each visit. He didn’t ask me out right away, though.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">Every day I anticipated his visit, hoping that that day would be the day he’d ask me out. One of my co-workers kept telling me to just ask him out, but my pride wouldn’t let me do that. I thought I was giving him enough signals without throwing myself at him completely.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">Aaron looked like he stepped straight out of a magazine every time he walked into the shop. His perfect smile melted me, his dazzling hazel eyes hypnotized me, his blonde hair was strategically in place, and he was always dressed immaculately.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">After about a month and a half, he finally asked me out. I fell hard and fast. We were the happiest, most affectionate couple, and our friends gave us shit about it all time. Sickeningly sweet is what they called us. My girlfriends were mad that at such a young age, I was already “tied down” and not wanting to go out with them anymore. I didn’t even care. I didn’t miss the single lifestyle. I had Aaron, and we were happy.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">Janna would always tell me I should think twice about settling down so fast, and reminded me constantly that I had only had one boyfriend before him. My co-worker, Mel, would always try to convince me to stay single like her so we could go out together.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">I figured they were jealous. Everybody wanted an Aaron, if not Aaron himself, and I had him. I wasn’t going to let my happily ever after slip through my fingers.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">Perhaps, I should have thought twice, because like the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">I walk around the kitchen island and towards my husband. I remove his already loose, bright blue tie, and then his wrinkled black suit jacket.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">“I’ll put these in the laundry room,” I tell him. “Bring me the rest after your shower.”&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">He gives me a hasty kiss on my cheek. “Thanks.”&nbsp;</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">I watch him disappear upstairs and I’m left alone with the smell of the redheaded woman’s perfume on his clothes.</span></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h0UH8Tbjgz0/VYjaYfF-cYI/AAAAAAAAO4Y/PUoJB4Eio8I/s1600/event%2Bbanners-teasers.jpg" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vikwy1mmIHU/V2q1NJvpDiI/AAAAAAAAzOw/u9_RXD1DhZc7joloYLdBFF3cFwe9CslCwCK4B/s1600/13517785_1768712243340806_146298178_o.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vikwy1mmIHU/V2q1NJvpDiI/AAAAAAAAzOw/u9_RXD1DhZc7joloYLdBFF3cFwe9CslCwCK4B/s640/13517785_1768712243340806_146298178_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fbO8IiiVk8U/V2q1O0PQcWI/AAAAAAAAzO4/yTkH0ZWyXGcHHWMNSVts_bZN43nWxrhhACK4B/s1600/13467778_1768712210007476_1984606227_o.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fbO8IiiVk8U/V2q1O0PQcWI/AAAAAAAAzO4/yTkH0ZWyXGcHHWMNSVts_bZN43nWxrhhACK4B/s640/13467778_1768712210007476_1984606227_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FNW1zs1LWYQ/V2q1QaCZtiI/AAAAAAAAzPE/1q72IeNKptAyYK8WzNS3M6vMXgUkLJRGgCK4B/s1600/13518030_1768712213340809_596895411_o.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FNW1zs1LWYQ/V2q1QaCZtiI/AAAAAAAAzPE/1q72IeNKptAyYK8WzNS3M6vMXgUkLJRGgCK4B/s640/13518030_1768712213340809_596895411_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_Hz35YPmi40/VYjaXhkp7oI/AAAAAAAAO4Q/9pbuQ3y72u0/s1600/event%2Bbanners-meet%2Bthe%2Bauthor.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ACyY7kc0sEw/VhA9s1yLBGI/AAAAAAAAV7k/aDfiloIDNJU/s1600/I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ACyY7kc0sEw/VhA9s1yLBGI/AAAAAAAAV7k/aDfiloIDNJU/s320/I.jpg" width="312" /></a><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif; text-align: left;">Isabel Lucero is the author of the romantic suspense novel The Secrets That We Keep and the bestselling erotic romance books Living in Sin, Unforgivable Sin, and Sins &amp; Mistrust; books one, two, and three in The Escort Series. She also penned the crime drama, WAR.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">She was born in a small town in New Mexico and was lucky enough to escape and travel the world thanks to her husband's career in the Air Force. She's been married for eleven years to the love of her life and Jr. High School sweetheart. Together they have two of the best and most beautiful kids in the world.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">Isabel's love for reading is anything but new, she's been reading since before she was a teenager.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">She’s a multi-genre author, tackling genres such as romantic suspense, erotic romance, crime drama, and contemporary romance.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">She currently lives overseas and is constantly coming up with new book ideas, so keep an eye open for new stories coming your way. Isabel loves connecting with her readers and fans of books in general. You can find her on her personal website, Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram</span>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/authorisabellucero" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-izgHB7hEMXk/VYneQdJjguI/AAAAAAAAO_M/2KfytH7OPl8/s1600/facebook.png" /></a><a href="https://twitter.com/AuthorIsabel" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HDHTexgJaMI/VYneTQiP5MI/AAAAAAAAO-4/E_k3fzFyCPU/s1600/twitter.png" /></a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Isabel-Lucero/e/B00HNJ4JLW" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XEYnryOtyWA/VYneP2YoQXI/AAAAAAAAO90/N7kVUos7WZA/s1600/AMAZON.png" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7152948.Isabel_Lucero" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WMFha9A2868/VYneQkZlejI/AAAAAAAAO_A/fZcbrMq0fZU/s1600/goodreads.png" /></a><a href="https://www.isabellucero.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2gD1Weu22Ls/VYneUc-hgNI/AAAAAAAAO_I/R3ZwTeKvxCo/s1600/website.png" /></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://instagram.com/authorisabel" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pHDR09L64vo/VYneRWeiXzI/AAAAAAAAO-Q/tQ2oZcgB9FM/s1600/instagram.png" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ioBks9gHC6I/VYjcjH76SCI/AAAAAAAAO48/Fbznng08RwI/s1600/event%2Bbanners-giveaway.jpg" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="81aa7894960" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/81aa7894960/" id="rcwidget_2i4tl8wq" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a></div><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2jiM8hHtRW4/V2q2H9i74QI/AAAAAAAAzPQ/1K9KuAdJxmgLuf1xTU4sN-nsrvRQ6ycRQCK4B/s1600/ThinkAgain_.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="482" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2jiM8hHtRW4/V2q2H9i74QI/AAAAAAAAzPQ/1K9KuAdJxmgLuf1xTU4sN-nsrvRQ6ycRQCK4B/s640/ThinkAgain_.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span id="goog_427531004"></span><span id="goog_427531005"></span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"><b></b></span> <span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"><b>HOSTED BY:</b></span> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.enticingjourneybookpromotions.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YJnhj6xsrhk/VYjw3xcCxeI/AAAAAAAAO8I/dEvA_w_C89U/s1600/enticing%2Bjourney%2Bprofile.jpg" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div></div> Isabel Lucerohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17350750536330610204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-464285045647716331.post-65136435489686143282016-06-06T13:17:00.000-07:002016-06-26T07:20:19.493-07:00Think Again Cover Reveal<div style="text-align: center;"><h2><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Think Again</span></h2></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">He thinks I don't know.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">He thinks he's getting away with it.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">He thinks karma won't come back to get him.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">He needs to think again.</span></span><br /><span style="line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Men think women are vindictive, and maybe they're right. But when we get to the point of being cold, calculating, and vindictive, it's because they pushed us there.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Not only is my husband unaware that he's pushing me too far, he also doesn't realize that I just met a man who's ready to catch me.</span></span><br /><span style="line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I think he's just my new co-worker.&nbsp;</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I think it's just innocent flirting.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I think I'll be able to keep my morals.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I need to think again.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 19.32px;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 6px;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-owSYXmYlcF8/V1UqW-M4BqI/AAAAAAAAASk/gyL7BKDEf5EUKDTh7879MeCHfLcG_2kcgCLcB/s1600/ThinkAgain_ecover_REVEALFILE.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-owSYXmYlcF8/V1UqW-M4BqI/AAAAAAAAASk/gyL7BKDEf5EUKDTh7879MeCHfLcG_2kcgCLcB/s640/ThinkAgain_ecover_REVEALFILE.png" width="408" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Cover Models: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/LanceJonesTattooFitnessModel/?fref=ts" target="_blank">Lance Jones</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/stephanie.pietz/?fref=ts" target="_blank">Stephanie Pietz</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Cover Designer: Robin Harper from <a href="http://www.wickedbydesigncovers.com/" target="_blank">Wicked By Designs</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Photographer: Shauna Kruse from <a href="http://www.kruseimagesandphotography.com/" target="_blank">Kruse Images and Photography</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; line-height: 19.32px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; line-height: 19.32px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif; font-size: large;">PRE-ORDER</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">You can pre-order Think Again for only .99 cents on iTunes, Kobo, and Barnes &amp; Noble. 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text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">&nbsp;</span><a forcediv="true" forceinline="true" href="http://tinyurl.com/hwrb33o" original_target="http://tinyurl.com/hwrb33o&amp;h=zaqfjvxmyaqekb6czaiobostwabn6ila4mq2nfv072bnmxg&amp;enc=azoncjr7xl2dxuai0_2u6i5nclgyyhpypflynurq0ntbtxtbtav98b1fohx5l5sxq_vbnvhwd41qofrz7gdcjme8r_k7lda1ytejojn4gaxt3rma3qqlag8rrjyk3zhgcueyi3wgtjjcux0zraf2qlhsng69oysvq1lvhzi-wn-cenhna5as7r42m8ke72-gpmi4q3cpvwkio0nelslulamu&amp;s=1" rel="nofollow" saprocessedanchor="true" style="cursor: pointer; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="http://tinyurl.com/hwrb33o Ctrl+Click or tap to follow the link">http://tinyurl.com/hwrb33o</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif; font-size: large;">About the Author</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Isabel Lucero is a multi-genre bestselling author, priding herself in being able to provide <i>books for every mood. </i>She's penned the romantic suspense novel <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Secrets-That-We-Keep-ebook/dp/B00EFW44C4?ie=UTF8&amp;ref_=asap_bc" target="_blank">The Secrets That We Keep</a>, the erotic romance books <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Living-Sin-Escort-Book-1-ebook/dp/B00HMP4JEO?ie=UTF8&amp;ref_=asap_bc" target="_blank">Living in Sin</a>, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Unforgivable-Sin-Escort-Book-2-ebook/dp/B00KLS35C6?ie=UTF8&amp;ref_=asap_bc" target="_blank">Unforgivable Sin</a>, and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sins-Mistrust-Escort-Book-3-ebook/dp/B00O77C4HY?ie=UTF8&amp;ref_=asap_bc" target="_blank">Sins &amp; Mistrust</a>; books one, two, and three in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Escort-Isabel-Lucero-ebook/dp/B018EVI4WC?ie=UTF8&amp;ref_=asap_bc" target="_blank">The Escort Series</a>, the crime drama <a href="https://www.amazon.com/WAR-Isabel-Lucero-ebook/dp/B00UQISUEE?ie=UTF8&amp;ref_=asap_bc" target="_blank">WAR</a>, the contemporary romance novel titled <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Resurrecting-Phoenix-Isabel-Lucero-ebook/dp/B015QJT9Q0?ie=UTF8&amp;ref_=asap_bc" target="_blank">Resurrecting Phoenix</a>, and a forbidden contemporary romance titled <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Think-Again-Isabel-Lucero/dp/1534705929?ie=UTF8&amp;ref_=asap_bc" target="_blank">Think Again</a>.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">She was born in a small town in New Mexico and was lucky enough to escape and travel the world thanks to her husband's career in the Air Force. She's been married for twelve years to the love of her life and Jr. High School sweetheart. Together they have two of the best and most beautiful kids in the world.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">She currently lives overseas and is constantly coming up with new book ideas, so keep an eye open for new stories coming your way. Isabel loves connecting with her readers and fans of books in general. You can find her on her personal website, Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">She was born in a small town in New Mexico and was lucky enough to escape and travel the world thanks to her husband's career in the Air Force. She's been married for twelve years to the love of her life and Jr. High School sweetheart. Together they have two of the best and most beautiful kids in the world.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">She currently lives overseas and is constantly coming up with new book ideas, so keep an eye open for new stories coming your way. Isabel loves connecting with her readers and fans of books in general. You can find her on her <a href="http://www.isabellucero.com/" target="_blank">personal website</a>, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/authorisabellucero/" target="_blank">Facebook</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/AuthorIsabel" target="_blank">Twitter</a>, and<a href="https://www.instagram.com/authorisabel" target="_blank"> Instagram</a>.</span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FADuhba9xL4/V1UxSYBFc6I/AAAAAAAAAS0/yDI0CJEeiVQRhzHFIFnD0rEfXMf-77_FwCLcB/s1600/ThinkAgain_mock1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="482" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FADuhba9xL4/V1UxSYBFc6I/AAAAAAAAAS0/yDI0CJEeiVQRhzHFIFnD0rEfXMf-77_FwCLcB/s640/ThinkAgain_mock1.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="color: #1d2129; text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 19.32px; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"></div>Isabel Lucerohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17350750536330610204noreply@blogger.com1